


Useful

by apple_pi



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hobbits, LOTR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-28
Updated: 2009-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apple_pi/pseuds/apple_pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Pippin is cold, Merry is cranky, and Pervinca does not take over Middle-earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useful

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marigold's Tale Challenge 17. My challenge was to mention Gandalf and Pervinca in the story.

"I'm so tired of being cold." Pippin shivered and pulled his cloak more tightly about his body for the fourth time.

"We're all cold," I replied, padding along beside him, head down.

"I know that." Pippin shot me a look. "I didn't say no-one else was cold. I said _I_ am tired of being cold. My being cold does not stop anyone else in the party being cold, you see. And furthermore -"

"Pippin." I spoke sharply. "You're cold because you're letting all the heat in your body escape out your mouth."

"Wha - I - well, that's what I call nice, Merry!" Pippin began, only to be cut off yet again, this time by Gandalf.

"If you don't mind, my thick-headed hobbits, could I trouble you to keep your voices down?" A low, cutting growl, and the wizard aimed a gimlet eye at us both from under his bushy brows as he lengthened his stride and passed us.

"Sorry," I muttered. Now Pippin and I were at the back of the group, save for Boromir, who marched tirelessly along a good thirty paces back, on rearguard. Drat. At the back again, and all because Pippin couldn't keep up, had to waste his breath and my time with inane chatter or annoying whining... I kept my head down and fumed, irritation warming me for a good while.

Well before the eastern sky paled, our group settled for sleep in a hollow of the land. A small beck made the ground marshy at the bottom of the narrow fold of land; naturally Pippin stumbled and stepped right into the mud, then the water. Just as naturally Frodo scolded him and Sam gave him a reproachful look. I saw him glance at their faces and then look to me for support, but bugger it all, I was sick of always pulling Pippin out of the muck, literal and figurative, and I looked away and scowled; Pippin tipped his chin up defiantly and stalked away, muddy to the ankles and carrying a flannel, to sit on a rock at the far side of the encampment and clean himself up.

No dry wood meant no fire for fear of the smoke, so we suffered with our dried provisions. I ate a few bites of the hardtack bread, but found that exhaustion had robbed me of appetite, an unprecedented event; ignoring the other eight members of the fellowship, I poked around till I found a dry area and spread my bedroll. Out of habit I spread Pippin's, too. Not that the little wretch deserved it, but... I grimaced and lay down facing away from the others, wrapping myself up as best I could, listening to the quiet sounds of the camp around me. Waiting for Pippin to come and lie down, waiting to fall asleep. Cold and tired. Wretched, stupid day...

I heard Frodo and Sam talking low, then bedding down a little distance away. Gandalf went onto watch, Legolas took his bow and paced silently away, over the rim of the bowl of earth. Aragorn, Gimli and Boromir rolled themselves into their blankets - I could hear each of them settle, breathing patterns distinctive as their voices - and slept.

Gandalf spoke, and Pippin's high voice replied - short and sharp, it sounded like. I closed my eyes tightly against the growing light. Boneheaded Took. Poke at Gandalf and have himself turned into a toad, most likely. And drat him, why wasn't he coming to lie down? Well. I could certainly go to sleep without him. Let the stubborn little creature look after himself for once.

...

I sighed.

I stood up, keeping my blanket wrapped round myself, and stumped over to where Pippin sat on a low granite outcropping, hunched over himself, flannel draped over a bare place on the rock.

"Well?"

Pippin looked up at me. "Well _what?_ What do you want, Merry?" He scowled, hands cupped over his pulled-up feet.

"I want you to come and sleep, Pippin, so I don't have to listen to you whinge all night again tonight." I shivered, pulling the blanket closer. "You'll be warmer in your blankets."

"I'm fine," Pippin said. He wasn't, though - his small face was pinched, shadows bruising the thin skin under his eyes. "Go and sleep."

"Not without you." I grudgingly held my hand out.

"I can't."

"Can't sleep?" I examined him. "You look knackered."

"Can't -" Pippin's mouth tightened and he looked down at one foot, hidden under his hand. "Can't walk, very well." He sighed.

Irritation forgotten, I knelt and moved Pippin's hand. "Oh, Pip," I said. "Why didn't you say something?" I bent over for a better look at the chilblains. "Can you walk at all?"

"I don't know." His voice trembled but his chin was determined when I looked up at him. "I'm fine, I just need to - sit here for a moment."

"Don't be daft, come and lie down. Here -"

"I'm not daft, Merry," Pippin shrilled. He glanced guiltily at Gandalf, who pointedly ignored us, standing at the top of the bank some little way off. Pippin lowered his voice to a hiss. "I'm not daft, I'm just tired, and my feet hurt, and when I fell in the mud I scraped the skin off two of the chilblains, and I'll thank you to leave. Me. Alone."

I stayed crouching where I was, looking at the ground rather than at Pippin's angry face. After a time I sighed, trying not to let the prickling behind my eyes spill over into tears. I rubbed my forehead. "You're not daft, Pippin. Please let me help you over to our bedrolls."

A long silence and then Pippin's finger, touching my shoulder. "All right."

I half-carried, half-supported Pippin to our nest of blankets, dragging my own coverlet behind. Pippin settled on his rear and I sat bent over his feet, examining the painful-looking blemishes. "We need to clean them," I said.

"S'what I've been doing," Pippin muttered, and I suppressed another surge of irritation.

"I know you have, but I mean with perhaps... witch hazel, or calendula. Something to prevent the dirt from getting deep in the sores, and to help them to dry out."

"Oh." Pippin sniffed and I looked at his face, but there were no tears in his eyes. He was only thinking. "Sam has something in his pack, I think. Or Strider might. He packed a lot of herbs."

"Did he now?" I left Pippin there and crossed to Gandalf.

"Do we have any witch hazel or calendula?" I asked him without preamble or explanation.

He looked at me from beneath his hat. "Yes," he said finally. "Look in Aragorn's small leather pouch, the one tied to the outside of his pack. Don't touch anything else, though. They will be labeled in the common speech."

"Thank you." I turned away but he stopped me.

"Do we need to boil water?" he asked.

I half-turned back, keeping my eyes on the bare brown earth. "No. He's got the muck off. I just want to bind the sores and dry them out so he can walk easily tomorrow."

"Very well. Please tell me if he needs more attention."

I snorted quietly. "He gets enough attention."

"Meriadoc." The reproof in Gandalf's voice was painful enough; the note of surprise hurt more and I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, Gandalf," I whispered.

"Don't apologise to _me_, my lad," Gandalf said, and I dared meet his eyes; they were kind. "You're tired," he said, oblique excuse, and I nodded and turned away.

I poked through Strider's bag, looking for what I needed through tear-blurred eyes; no tears fell, though. I finally extracted a small ceramic jar, and I appropriated a bandage as well, tucking the other jars and pots neatly back into their pockets.

Pippin had laid back on the pallet, pulling a blanket over himself; I didn't move him but knelt and tended to his feet right there, lifting the blankets away and working quickly. He lay motionless, though I heard his breath hiss between his teeth when I painted the witch hazel on. I tied the bandage as best I could and patted his ankle awkwardly before walking on my knees to where I could lie beside him.

He lifted one arm and the blankets, and I crept under, curling against him for warmth without looking at his face.

"Thank you," he said softly. I tucked my head against his neck and nodded. "They'll be better by tomorrow."

"Yes." I sniffled. "And you can keep the bandage on while you walk for a day or two - that'll keep the dirt out well enough, so long as we wash your feet when we stop to rest. I'll have Strider tie the cloth properly before we leave in the morning."

"Reduced to wearing shoes," Pippin sighed. "These Men are a terrible influence."

I choked a laugh into his curls and felt it fade almost immediately back into misery. "Pippin -"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, before I could finish. "Sorry to be a burden when I should be a help."

"You're not!" I said quickly. "I'm the one who's sorry. I've treated you awfully today - last night - whenever -" I bumped my head against his chest. "And I'm sorry and it's not just you it's me, too. I'm tired all the time, and a wretched walking companion, and I'm cold, and. Well." I sniffed again. "That's all, I suppose. I'm just sorry."

Pippin stroked my hair and sighed. "A pair of idiots," he said.

"We are." I pulled him closer, greedy for the heat and feeling better already for having apologised.

"Perhaps some other hobbits should have come," Pippin mused.

"What!?"

He clamped his arms to still my indignant struggles. "Oi, Merry, fetch a sense of humour from Strider's bag, would you? I'm winding you up," he said mildly.

I subsided. "Oh."

"Daft Brandybuck," he muttered. "Who else could have come? Fatty, puffing along and looking for a tavern? Folco? He'd never have made it past the Elven ladies at Rivendell."

I snickered. "Frodo'd've done better to bring lasses."

Pippin's laugh was a warm vibration under my cheek. "The sad thing is, you're probably right," he said. "I can't imagine the Barrow-wight who could face down Pervinca."

We both giggled over that one, then sighed. Pippin yawned and I couldn't resist, I followed suit helplessly. "Ah, Pip. No, you're right. It had to be us."

"I'll just have to make myself useful," he murmured, almost to himself.

I butted his chest again. "You are useful," I said. "You keep up just fine, and you keep our spirits up, too. That's worth a lot." He was silent and I wriggled backward, lifting my head to look at his face. It was full day, now, or as full as it ever got on those dreary moors, and Pippin's expression of disbelief and sadness was clear in the chilly grey light. "Pippin."

"It's kind of you to say so, Merry, but Pervinca really would be more use than me," he said low, trying to smile. "She at least would stay clean."

"Pip." I bent my forehead against his, looked cross-eyed down our noses. Sighed again. "Pervinca would have driven us all batty long before we ever left the Shire. She'd have bossed the Black Riders till they decided to reform - which might be useful," I conceded. Pippin snorted. "She'd have decided before Bree that the Ring would be better off in her hands, and annexed it, and as we speak she'd be busy using armies of goblins to build a palace for her, and she'd have them all bowing and scraping and wearing pinnies and dusting the banisters." Pippin's little snorts had turned to helpless giggles. "She would decree that all the ale houses must close, and that hobbit husbands are only allowed to hold their wives' yarn while they knit, and that every hobbit babe must have three teaspoons of castor oil three times a day - and she'd have _orcs_ to back her up." I shuddered. "So you see. It's really a very good thing that it's you here on this journey and not Pervinca."

"I've saved the Shire single-handedly," Pippin managed, shaking a little with laughter.

"Yes you have." I kissed his nose and shifted again, this time tucking his head beneath my chin, pulling the blankets up.

His giggles trailed off into a yawn. "Oh, bless me, Merry, I'm sleepy."

"Sleep, then, cousin." I yawned in imitation again.

He dug his nose into my shoulder. "I didn't eat, though. I think I'm hungrier than I am sleepy."

I rolled my eyes, closed though they were. "Pippin. It'll have to wait." My head felt heavy. So did my arms and legs and belly, heavy and full of sleep, aching slightly from the long cold day, warming at last under the blankets and against Pippin. "If you move I'll be cold again," I said, holding him tightly until I felt his body relax.

"So my jobs on the journey are to be making you laugh and keeping you warm." He didn't sound sad anymore, though. Blurry, comfortable.

"The least of your jobs," I murmured. I squinched my eyes shut against the light and pressed my face into the crown of his head.

"Maybe not," he slurred, and then his voice shaded into breath and his breath shaded into the steady in-and-out of sleep and then I didn't hear it anymore, because I was asleep, too.

 

 

~ _end_ ~


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